Halo Made of Fire
by BloodyValentine0666
Summary: This is the story of Samuel Carr, a man looking for something more in his life. He comes to Silent Hill and...find out more.P.S first chapters are intros, and other chapters will feature game characters.


Chapter 1: Me and My Shadow

Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill

This is my first fanfic of Silent Hill so please, don't be harsh. Anyways, here's the first chapter. Hope you guys like it and R&R if you can.

I'm suffocating.

My lungs no longer function. Depravation of any sort is never a good thing. Especially depravation from a little thing called air. But I don't have it that bad. No. Some people...some people have it much worst. Depraved of the things needed in order to lead a successful and fulfilling life. Emotional depravation, narcissistic tendencies, social deviants, sadists. I'm the lucky one. I suffocate and it's over. Death. They suffocate, and live on. They suffocate, and for the longest time, pray for death. For there is the dead then there is the dying. Two different statements in it's entirety.

My vision starts to blur as the bag over my head tightens. It's only a matter of time. The black paint I sprayed earlier, it's making everything light. I kick and struggle grasping the rope against my neck. As if I wanted to live. Holding on to false hope...it's not my style. Not anymore. I could feel the life getting sucked out of me, I'm going on to a better place, it might be heaven, it might be hell, but...as long as it's not here. I was going on my way, on my way to who the hell knows where...when...

knock, knock

Shit.

That bitch's knocking at my door again. This old rusted apartment isn't worth half the rent I'm paying her. Her voice was angered, "I swear to God Carr, get the fuck out here right now!"

Great. I was in the middle of my spiritual transfer and all this prick wants is her money. I'll give her his money. I loosened the rope around my neck and took the bag off my head. I exit the closet knowing that old hag is waiting. Clothes all over the place, it's a mess. But who really gives a shit? Not me that's for sure. I walk over and opened the door. And there she was. Old, balding, and wrinkled as hell.

"Mrs. Bellinger," I said, " what a surprise."

"Don't be a smartass boy, just here to collect rent... Well?"

I reach for my wallet and as I did, I could feel her eyeing me. Like a hawk.

"here," I said handing her the money.

Without saying a word, she left. And I was alone again. Stuck in this shithole until I can finally make my transition from this world to the next. Sound a little too deep? Sorry for that. I have a tendency to get a little philosophical.

It was five minutes til ten as I walk the dim lite streets. People pass me as they walk by, steadily. Depressed people, sick people, and the occasional optimistic but doesn't have a chance in hell type of people. Me, I'm the druggie with a smart mouth and a death wish. I pass the coffee shop two or three blocks back. Nothing there but people looking for a way to stay within the boundaries of this so called reality of ours. Coffee does that to you. It keeps you grounded. Me, I hate the taste. But maybe if I had a better grip on things, then maybe...maybe my life wouldn't be shit.

I finally reach my destination. Here I stand outside the church doors. A part of my week ritual you could say. I enter the church, passing the pews and entering the booth. The enclosed space always got to me. But whatever. It's not like God can sneak up on me, right? Why do I come here every week you ask? Why a suicidal fuck with nothing to offer society but a dream getaway to acid trip land would choose to come in the house of God? Well, does wonders for the self esteem. For me, it doesn't seem to be kicking in.

A man's face appears in front of me. He knows me by now. Knows all my sins and my guilt. And yet, he knows nothing.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

Those words. I utter them still. They use to mean something to me way back when but now, it feels...hollow. My voice resound in my ears as I talk to the man. Those same words repeating itself. Forgive me...forgive me...

It's futile to forgive a man like me. For I don't want to be forgiven at least not in the manner that this church wants. Someone like me could be forgiven a thousand times and it still would mean nothing.

I am absolutely...nothing.


End file.
